


The Wager

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Bets & Wagers, Friendship, Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 10:08:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3352646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire and Courfeyrac are 'drink and pine together' buddies who decide to make a bet. Shenanigans ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wager

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thefaceofno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefaceofno/gifts).



> For thefaceofno's prompt. I'm sorry it's late - there is more coming, friend! I promise. This was a pinch-hit I got last night and I didn't want you to feel left out, so I'm posting a chapter and working on the rest now. Hope you enjoy!

They really should have known better by now.

If Enjolras and Combeferre knew that Grantaire and Courfeyrac were making bets again, the first would probably hex them. Ferre wouldn’t need to do anything more than give them that look over the rim of his glasses that screamed disappointment and it would all be over and these two idiots would be saved from themselves.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, the nature of the bet meant that neither Enjolras nor Combeferre could know.

It all started with firewhisky… Which could be attributed to most of their bad ideas, but they didn’t like to dwell on that.

The two seventh years law across Grantaire’s bed in their dorm, passing a bottle between them. It was a wonder that they didn’t get called out on bringing alcohol back from Hogsmede anymore, but Grantaire mostly figured the professors saw him for the lost cause he was and gave up sometime last year. Even so, the most they could get away with was a small bottle, snuck in only once and a while and saved for special occasions.

Like this one.

“Sweater vests.”

“That red shirt.”

“Those jeans.”

“Ponytails.”

“ _Glasses.”_

Grantaire groaned and graciously gave up the bottle, naming Courf the winner of _Things They Saw Today That Should be Illegal (or at Least Closely Regulated)._

“We’re pathetic.” Grantaire stared up at the canopy above them.

“So pathetic.” Courf agreed, returning the bottle. Their words were slurring a little already, and they were playing with their yellow striped tie. “New game. Which one of us is more pathetic?”

Grantaire barked out a laugh, turning to give his friend a hard look before tossing back almost the rest of the bottle – he was obviously the winner, there.

“Okay. Fair enough.” Courf giggled, worming around on the bed. “But we’re both still pretty bad.”

“Really bad.” Grantaire chuckled, letting Courf pry the bottle out of his fingers. “Can you imagine his _face_ though? If he knew?”

“Hm?”

Grantaire dropped his voice to imitate Enjolras, which – actually, made no sense, since his voice was a fair bit deeper than the blonde’s, but Courf got the point. “ _Grantaire, you’re a fool and a drunk with no drive._ Then he’d run for the hills and avoid me for, like, forever.”

He’d expected Courf to laugh, but instead he felt their smaller figure shift around next to him, propping up on their elbow. When Grantaire looked over, they were frowning.

“You don’t know that.”

Grantaire snorted. “It’s a pretty good emstima—estmit… Uh. Guess.”

“Nu-uh.” Courf was moving again, this time to sit up, cross legged. They booped the edge of the bottle against Grantaire’s forehead. “You never know until you try! You have more chance with Enjolras than I have with Combeferre.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes before he closed them, half because the room was getting hazy, half so he wouldn’t see the earnest look on Courf’s face and start doing something ridiculous like _hoping._

“Barely. You and Ferre are like _this.”_ Grantaire crossed all of his fingers together, because that was a lot more effective than just crossing two of them. “And how could he not love you?” Courf seemed to be trying to balance the oddly-shaped bottle on Grantaire’s forehead while he spoke. Grantaire didn’t question it.

“Incorrect! Well, un-incorrect. I am pretty lovable. And—and  Ferre and I are _rad_. But we’re rad _as friends._ For almost two _decades_ , R. We knew each other as _babies._ Imagine if I knew baby Ferre! I don’t know anything about babies, I could –“

Grantaire punched Courf’s leg. “Get on with it, you lightweight.”

Courf huffed at that, but got their self back on track. “We’ve been friends way too long. I couldn’t risk ruining that. But you and Enjolras,” Courf picked up speed as they got more excited. “You two are like, _one good argument_ away from angry make outs on the bar of the Three Broomsticks. Don’t give me that look!”

“Angry make outs are not the same thing as dating, Courfeyraaaaaac.”

“I _know_ that, git.” Courf picked up the bottle again, this time to press it into Grantaire’s hand. Apparently he needed a drink, and Grantaire wasn’t going to challenge Courf’s judgement. He took a swig while he listened to Courf lisping their way through their argument. “But it’s a start! And I think if that happened, Enjolras would be so _swept away_ by your kickass make out skills and never want to stop ever.”

“It’s a nice thought,” Grantaire snorted, finishing off the firewhisky. “But not very realistic.”

“No.” Courf agreed seriously. “But you could just. You know. Ask him out.”

“Oh, sure.” Grantaire laughed.

“No! I’m serious!” Courf scrambled, grabbing the bottle away and tossing it aside. “You should try!”

“I’ll try when you do,” Grantaire offered, thinking that would be the end of that.

Grantaire should have known better. This was Courf, after all.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“No, I mean _okay.”_ Courf tipped over, using Grantaire’s stomach as a pillow. “Let’s make this interesting.”

“I am not helping you release any more care of magical creature lessons.”

“Noooo, not that kind of interesting. Bet interesting.”

“That is even more dangerous than the time we thought fireworks in the Prefect bathtub were a good idea.”

Courf giggled at the reminder, but swatted Grantaire’s leg to keep him quiet.

“Shut uuuuup. I’m trying to say something.” They cleared his throat and waited for an interruption that didn’t come. “I bet you that I can ask Combeferre out before you ask Enjolras out.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“A date with Enjolras?”

“And?” Grantaire craned his neck to look at Courfeyrac. “If I win the bet?”

“I’ll do your transfiguration for two months.”

Grantaire considered. “And if you win?"

“You do my potions for two months.”

It was a pretty fair deal. Even if Grantaire couldn’t go through with it, at least one of them would be happy. Grantaire would miss his drinking and pining buddy, but so is life.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Monsieur de Courfeyrac.”

**Author's Note:**

> (I checked your works and saw you're a fan of NB Courf - Hope it's alright!)


End file.
